


and love is more cruel than lust

by ultraviolence



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Prototype: Fragments of Sky Silver, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Cock Rings, Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, some unexpected cuteness at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: When his kingdom was occupied, Prince Arthur Pendragon found himself as a royal guest under King Lucius's control. Lucius is determined to make him his at all costs, and Arthur found himself in a tight spot. Oneshot, AU.





	and love is more cruel than lust

**Author's Note:**

> So...I planned to release this during CBC, but things evidently don't go according to plan, because writer's block hits me hard and left me incapacitated during March. But! I hope everyone had a great CBC (Arthur came home to me so I'm not really complaining), and an amazing month.
> 
> Credit for the punishment collar goes to Xien (@lostbeltsaber on Twitter), who actually made me ship this ship, made me read Proto (I'm not done yet tho), and helped me with the idea. Also, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't inspired by [this fanart](https://lancerarthur.tumblr.com/post/182982534777/kirishima), lmao.
> 
> Please enjoy!

The night was easily unforgettable to the untrained eye.

There were a lot of finery involved, some dancing, more jewellery—all in display like it could rival the beauty of the moon, or the stars that accompanied her. It was all, after all, to be expected of an event like this, of something of this scale, a night where the finest monarchs of the kingdoms gathered and put on a marvellous display of their power and beauty.

And yet, it all bores him. How many events—dances—like this that he had attended before? Arthur had lost track. It was easy, in the kind of life that he was born into, to forgot what really matters or even what was really in front of him, but he wasn’t the sort who loses sight. 

He’d taken his time to go to the balcony, where there were less people involved. Actually, he’d slipped away there—they were all still dancing and laughing and drinking, making alliances and dalliances, rivals and enemies, inside—he doesn’t know if his father still needed him to make his rounds or not, but he’d done his duty, and now he felt like he needed a well-deserved break. 

It was perhaps a coincidence that they met, or not—either way, in retrospect, it does not matter to him. Fate had put them together in the same picture, pawns of the events that was about to unfold. Or, Arthur mused, when he remembered the night, in the not-so-kind future that awaited him— _he_ wasn’t Fate’s pawn at all, but rather a _player_.

Arthur was leaning towards the balcony when he made his entrance, nursing a drink and looking at the dark veil of night and the myriad of stars that dotted it. 

“Oh, I do not know that there is someone else here,” he heard a voice rings out from behind him, breaking the silence that he so treasured—though of course punctuated and perforated with faint music and laughter from the party—a rich male voice, well-controlled, and Arthur immediately knows that this is no mere noble even before he looked at him in the face, for their kind recognised each other. “I do not believe that we have met yet, though I have seen you at the party.”

Arthur turned to meet the owner of the voice—a moment that he remembered forever—and immediately recognised him, although, like he said, they haven’t officially met before. There seemed to be the same sort of recognition passing through the other man’s eyes, although it was mixed with something else that Arthur could not yet identify—deeper recognition? Surprise? Desire?

Whatever it was, his gaze burn through him like fire, and he immediately knows that the other man’s reputation as a man driven by his passions was well-earned.

“Ah, my apologies,” the newly-arrived man said, bowing slightly. “I believe I was taken aback by your beauty. I did heard about you before and indeed, has seen you before,” he grins, slightly. “But it’s time we dispense with such formalities, isn’t it? It’s a great pleasure to finally meet you in person, Prince Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur was more than a little surprised by his overture, and especially more by the _familiarity_ in which he addressed him—his tone implies that, as if they had known each other not only for years but _decades_ —but he quickly regained his composure, as well.

“Well met, Crown Prince Lucius Tiberius,” he returned, only a little bit cold, to remind him of the facts—it is not the first time Arthur had to entertain such greedy overtures—but Lucius merely smiled. 

“Why are you here, Arthur?” He asked, and Arthur was glad for the fact that he was nursing a drink. He took one gulp of his drink before answering. 

“Why are _you_ here?” He tilted his head, genuine curiosity getting a hold of him. “Your reputation has preceded you, Lucius Tiberius. _Your_ stage is inside, not here. I know that you desire adoration and accolades and jousting with your rivals, and that could not be found here. I simply doesn’t know why you chose to come here, out of all the places.”

There was silence—for a moment, Arthur was afraid that he had insulted him, for the man took to insults easily—but then Lucius laughed, the sound of it drowning the music and the laughter from the party. 

“That is where you’re wrong, Arthur Pendragon,” he said, grinning, and for a moment, Arthur could feel the force of his full gaze on him, appraising him, or perhaps that was rather his imagination, for if it happens, it happens so fast. “What I _truly_ desire isn’t what you said. You may heard about me, that’s true. But that doesn’t make what is said about me is true,” he added, and then, surprisingly, he gets on his knees, offering a hand to him—or trying to reach out for his hand. 

“Now then,” he asked, and Arthur remembered, every single bit of it, like it was yesterday. “The music is about to start again. Shall we dance?”

Arthur looked at him, once, twice, at this strange man who looked at him as though he could not be content with merely desiring him, but to _own_ him, not only in some manner, but _completely_ , and he balked at the thought. He felt himself taking a step backward instinctively. 

(Though, when he relived the memory, later on, he realised, part of him desired him, too, defying all logic, even if he tried his best to suppress it.)

“I- I’m sorry,” he stammered out, trying to come out with some excuse, and his instincts all screamed at him to take flight, to put some distance between him and this strange, strange man. “I don’t really feel well,” he said, feigning a faint look. “That is why I’m here. Perhaps you could dance with someone else?”

For a moment, Lucius looked as through he wouldn’t accept the rejection, especially not after such a grand gesture from his part, and Arthur was afraid that that would be the case, but he straightened himself up and dusted himself.

“I see,” he said, shortly after, not really sounding satisfied but forcing a smile. “In that case, I apologise. I’m sorry I have bothered you. And indeed, I will find someone else to dance with,” he added, though his gaze—passionate anger mixing with naked desire—wasn’t fooling anyone. “I trust that I will see you around?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied, feigning a smile in turn. “I’ll see you around, Lucius.”

“Of course,” the other man said, his smile turning into something stormier, more serious. “I’ll see you around, my little lion.”

And with that, he swept away, leaving Arthur to puzzle over the meaning of their meeting.

That was only the beginning.

* * *

Fate turned its wheel around, spinning and spinning and waited for no one.

The next time they meet, Arthur found himself in a perilous position, his kingdom brought down to its knees by its enemies, and he had been spirited away—pushed into _running away_ —but he had been unlucky enough to meet Lucius’s loyal soldiers, those who recognised that there was bounty to be had to capture a monarch whose kingdom—and world—was falling into pieces all around him. 

Moreover, he had been unlucky enough to encounter those who recognised his true worth to their leader. Even back then, Arthur has had his suspicions about Lucius, but he had no time to mull it over, for his party was quickly defeated, and him captured.

It was the middle of the night when they arrived in Lucius’s throne room, all decked in red and black, the symbol of his royal glory, and he already ascended to the throne by then, after a mysterious illness befalls the king his father.

Arthur was made to wait, then, and he suspected that it was all intentional—certainly, for someone who was supposed to be driven by passion and passion alone, everything Lucius does seemed to be well thought out, as if all this time he had been playing a good distraction—but, he did not have time to dwell over the thought, either, for the king, soon enough, swept into the room, his scarlet robe trailing behind him. 

He doesn’t seem bothered enough for someone who was roused all of a sudden in the middle of the night.

“My, what a surprise we have here,” he said, as he swept into the room, and the sound of his voice did not fail to gain Arthur’s immediate attention. “If it isn’t the little lion, the owner of my heart. How many years has it been? One? Two?”

Arthur forced a smile as he felt Lucius’s presence, skulking about him, circling him like a vulture would a wounded lion. 

“It has been one and a half years, Your Majesty,” he said, choosing his words carefully. Lucius is standing in front of him now, studying him, looking satisfied at what he said. 

“Good for you to keep track,” he grins, and made his way to his throne, plopped down into it as if it was a mere chair and looked down at him, like some terrible god. “Tell me,” he addressed the rest of the party, “whose _brilliant_ idea it is to restrain the prince?”

One man, standing a little behind Arthur, stepped forward after an interval of silence. “It was me, Your Majesty,” he said, his face paled, trembling slightly, and Arthur opened his mouth to interrupt, but Lucius cuts them off, leaning back on his throne.

“He’s our royal guest, not some peasant who stole cattle,” he said, almost lazily, and the man looked as pale as a ghost now. Arthur had heard the stories—of how the new king’s punishment are always merciless—and he had already taken a step forward to interrupt, but Lucius shot him a look. “But, since the owner of my heart is here,” he added, with a hint of something like glee in his voice, tilting his head slightly and smiling down at them—a terrible god who’s feeling benevolent—which makes Arthur shudder unconsciously, “I shall forgive you. Now, leave us. I have important things to discuss with the prince, chiefly about the occupation of his kingdom.”

He smiles, again, a hint of savagery in it, which reminded Arthur of the tales about faeries in his kingdom and their ruler, immortal and merciless, and everyone in the room except for him immediately muttered their assent, bowed, and left his side, to both Arthur’s terror and natural curiosity.

They were left alone, then, in the large throne room, Lucius sitting in his throne with a leg crossed over the other and a hand propped under his chin, staring down at him, the captive prince, curiously. The silence seemed to stretch out into forever, Arthur staring back defiantly at him, until Lucius finally decided to uncross his leg and casually unseated himself, making his way towards him in the selfsame confident, languid swagger. 

Then he unsheathed his sword from its scabbard, and the next thing Arthur knows, the ropes that bound his wrists in front of his chest has been cut off. 

“They are fools, the lot of them,” he said, carefully sheathing his sword. “They should know that no mere rope can stop the likes of us, especially if they have already heard of your prowess as a mage and a warrior.”

“Don’t flatter me,” Arthur said, sharply, to his own surprise. “You are no mere warrior yourself, Lucius Tiberius. Though you liked to pretend so,” he added, and Lucius smiled, again, lazily.

“That much is true, Arthur, though I’m afraid I’m not as good as you where magecraft are concerned,” he replied, and Arthur could still feel him studying him. He was more observant than he initially thought.

“Don’t mock me,” Arthur retorted, feeling his temper flared, although that must be because of the exhaustion and the cold and the feeling of loss and failure, slowly creeping to his bones. “We both know that humility doesn’t suit you.”

Lucius’s smile widens. “But that’s not what we’re not here to talk about, aren’t we?”

He moved closer, tilting Arthur’s face up by the chin, forcing him to look at him directly in the eye, and Arthur immediately tried to push him away, but Lucius caught him by the wrist with his free hand. 

“Oh, don’t be so scared,” he chided, and Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “I have nothing to do with the occupation of your home. As for your stay here…you shall be my royal guest, as I said.”

“But to what end, Lucius?” Arthur demanded, feeling Lucius’s grip tighten around his wrist as he tried to reach deep inside him, to the place where light never fails to shine—

“I like your spirit,” he told him, grinning. “But first, my terms. I have a present for you, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur quelled the magic rising inside of him, though he felt like blasting the other man to smithereens, and grinds his teeth. He hated how Lucius seemed to enjoy his display of temper a bit too much.

“What present?” He forced the words out of his throat. Lucius stared at him, a moment longer, before he released him, and reached down to fish something out from his person.

“Well, then,” he said, tilting his head, looking at Arthur with such desire and curiosity that Arthur was afraid of what would transpire next. “We shall see how you behave as a royal guest of mine, shall we?”

He was holding a plain black box in his hand, and he thrusted it to Arthur. “Open it,” he commanded, and Arthur did, out of curiosity than any obedience to Lucius. 

The box contained a single item, sitting in black velvet, staring up at him wordlessly, radiating an odd energy. It was crackling with pure magic, but Arthur could not yet determine what kind, or even what it’s made of. It looked as if it was made of leather, but their kind would know better than to trust appearances.

“And you said I’m not some peasant who stole a cattle,” he told him, couldn’t help the sarcasm. When he looked up, Lucius was smiling.

Then he laughed.

“Do you really feel as if you are in a position to bargain with me, Arthur?” He said, after he’s done laughing, and Arthur shot him a sour look. He knows what sort of position he’s in, and what it entails. “No, you know your place,” Lucius continued, his grin turning into something that of a sadistic glee. “Go on. Put it on. I wanted to know if it fits you. Or do you want me to put it on for you instead?”

There was a moment of silence—a moment in which Lucius stared at him with a truly curious look—and Arthur could feel hesitation creeping up on him, but he knows he doesn’t really have a choice. He reached down inside the box, towards the leather-black choker, raised it with visible distaste, and puts it around his neck.

Once he does, he felt a visible jolt coursing through his body.

“Good boy,” Lucius purred, and Arthur shot him a dirty look. “Now, you see—if you try to use your magic again, like you did earlier, then…” he clicked his fingers. “Something will happen. Perhaps you care enough to try it? But please,” he chuckled, stuffing his hands inside his pockets, “don’t try the large spells. It would probably be enough to knock you out, or worse.”

“Lucius, you little—“

Arthur could feel his hands balling into fists, and he instinctively reached down again, mentally, to that place that never fails him—

And he felt the jolt again, this time palpable, nearly visible, enough to drive him to his knees. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough to made him see stars, but from Lucius’s vicious laughter echoing through the hall, he knows that it was enough to entertain the other man.

He could feel himself feeling sick to his stomach, but he still had the dignity to straightened himself up.

“Now, my little lion, you do understand my terms, don’t you?” Lucius told him, grinning like a madman. He _is_ a madman, Arthur thought, sourly. Worse, he is a sadist. “Don’t worry, it won’t be forever,” he added, and Arthur looked up at him, instinctively, and immediately regretted it, for Lucius’s smile had turned positively sadistic. “If you agree to marry me, or at least be my royal consort…” he trailed off, his smile turning into something gracious, something sick to the bone. “I’d help you take you back your kingdom immediately, and you know I had the power and the means to do that.”

“Never,” Arthur blurted out, glaring at him defiantly, even after he’d tasted the sickening magic of the choker. “I’d never marry you, Lucius. At least, not by my own volition.”

“Ah, then you’re in luck,” he said, not looking disappointed at all for someone who’d just been rejected so vehemently. “You’d stay as my royal guest…for a while. And while we’re at it, I suppose you already know how this works, don’t you? _I’m_ the only one who can take the device off,” he said, seating himself back on his throne. “You can try, of course…but that doesn’t mean you’ll succeed.”

“In the meanwhile, you _won’t_ have my cooperation,” Arthur told him. “I hope that sounds like something you’d enjoy, since I’m not planning on changing that any time soon, not as long as I stay as your ‘royal guest’, Lucius.”

“I told you, I like your spirit, Arthur,” Lucius retorted. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to break you. Just a little.”

He grins, ever so savagely, and Arthur could feel the full force of his gaze—like that night—bearing down upon him, except this time, he could not get away. Lucius was undressing him with that gaze, stripping him down to the core, desire unyielding, and Arthur was again afraid of what that may bring, though he had the gist of it. Even if he doesn’t possess the gift of clairvoyance…it was clear enough what Lucius was meaning to do with him, in his possession. 

Though of course, Arthur would never admit the last part. It was bad enough that he got caught—roped, he suspected—in this situation, it was therefore worse to admit that Lucius had managed to possess him in some way.

Still, still, he looked away first.

“I’m tired tonight,” Lucius droned, breaking Arthur’s train of thought. “As much as I’d like to start your obedience lessons…I’m afraid it has to wait until tomorrow,” he smiled, the very picture of twisted benediction, “until then, get some rest. I’ll call you when I feel like it tomorrow.”

Arthur felt anger rising up inside of him again, but he forced himself to bit his tongue, and nods, instead. “Very well, Your Majesty,” he said, and Lucius looked visibly pleased. “I’ll see you soon,” he added, the words feeling stilted in his tongue, but he rolled them out, nevertheless. 

“I’ll see you soon, little lion,” Lucius nods, his eyes never once leaving him. “You’re dismissed.”

Arthur gave him a hasty bow, out of manners that had been instilled in him since childhood than any actual semblance of respect, and made his exit from the throne room. 

Once he’s alone in the room assigned to him—nearly an entire wing of the palace had apparently been ceded to him—his hands immediately go to his throat, trying to figure out the collar— _device_ , Lucius called it—but he couldn’t make head or tail out of it. 

He dreaded tomorrow, but sleep claimed him anyway.

* * *

The next day comes in a shroud of white, and, although his bones still ached from the journey, Arthur slipped away in the early morning to the library, finding, with a certain grim delight, that he could move almost freely in his wing, although he’d seen guards skulking in the shadow. 

After all, he really wasn’t the type to just sit around and wait for Lucius to come pick him up—whatever he was planning to do with him—and he’d decided, after mulling it over for a short while that morning, that trying to figure out what the device actually was was a more productive course of action than to sit around and mope. 

He’d thought that the library must have contained some information, and, to his surprise, there was one nearby.

He doesn’t know how long he’d spent rifling through various books of magecraft for information until his stomach ached—he really hasn’t eaten anything since last night—and until he heard footsteps approaching him.

“I never thought you were the bookish type,” Lucius said, stepping into view, his tone casual. He was dressed in finery, more extravagant than he wore last night, something more suitable for a king. There was a certain lightness to his step that Arthur dreaded, a certain…joy. He was like a child in a candy shop, with the power to buy and transform the entire shop at will, and the aura radiating from him was positively dangerous. 

Arthur, ever the dogged type, refused to look at him.

“I’m not,” he said, and immediately regretted it. He’d heard that honesty gets one dead in a ditch—or worse—in the court of Lucius Tiberius. “I- I mean…I was just looking for a way to pass the time. Your Majesty,” he added, hastily, and Lucius grins, leaning forward at what he reads, or trying to. Arthur wished he wasn’t so obvious. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” He asked, feeling peeved already, if not by their closeness, by the vicious interest that the other man showered him with. 

“If you mean the throne, then that can wait,” he said, and Arthur felt something…like anger, shot with something else, flowing through him for a moment. He’d lost his kingdom, and yet, here is Lucius, treating his as if it was his own personal plaything, though Arthur knows better than to buy his entire attitude about it. _It was all distraction_ , he thought. “I’m where I’m supposed to be, with the owner of my heart. Tell me, what are you reading, Arthur? Is it—“ he pretends to crane his neck forward, to catch a whiff of the sentence that Arthur had been reading, “—magecraft? The way to remove the device? You’re never one for subtlety, aren’t you?”

“ _You’re_ one to speak,” he muttered under his breath, but forced an exhausted smile nevertheless, though that was perhaps a mistake, since he could feel the other draw closer, and in the close quarters of the reading spot they’re in, that was more than enough to bear. “Perhaps not, Lucius. But at least I don’t _scheme_ ,” he told him, couldn’t help but feel a little helpless indignation bleeding to his voice, as he felt the other drew ever closer, his breath brushing his neck—

Arthur felt himself being spun around, a little forcefully, his lower back now to the table, but this time he didn’t try to push him away, though he avoided Lucius’s forceful gaze. He held his breath as he felt the other grabbed his hand, his lips grazing it.

“Perhaps I will retake your kingdom and make it mine, like how I’ll make _you_ mine,” he whispered, his lips grazing the back of Arthur’s hand ever so slightly, like a suitor, like a lover, and Arthur felt himself jerking back instinctively, but something—something inside of him—held him in place. As much as he hated and despised this man, he was still very much fascinated by him, and maybe…maybe he even entertained the small delusion of saving him.

He raised his gaze to meet him, ever so defiantly, still, feeling that spark of fey wildness in his heart—he cannot let himself be tamed by this man. He cannot. 

This time, he didn’t look away as he speaks.

“If you think I’ll just roll over and go through with that, Your Majesty, then you are sorely mistaken.”

Lucius smiled, revealing his teeth just a little, letting go of his hand. Arthur briefly thought—mistakenly—that that would be the end of it, but of course, that wasn’t Lucius’s style at all. He felt his arms around him, hands beside his hips, trapping him bodily between him and the hard surface of the table. 

“God, I can’t wait until I had a chance to taste that spirit of yours,” Lucius said, grinning his savage grin, his voice a loud whisper in close quarters, and Arthur could taste his breath, barely missing his lips, dangerous and intoxicating, and he knows that if he tried to push him away, that would only serve to inflame him more. “I cannot wait until I have you, Arthur…until I have you begging for mercy in my personal quarters.”

Arthur would have been shocked at this revelation had it wasn’t been obvious since the beginning, but he still felt…revolted, nevertheless, though he was still fascinated, and he hated himself for that. He knows that his disgust must have been palpable, for Lucius’s grin widens ever so slightly. 

“I suppose we all need fantasies,” he told him, his tone challenging. “But some fantasies will remain nothing more than just fantasies, Lucius.”

“Oh, try to push me away, and I will punish you,” Lucius countered, though it was barely a counter at all, since he said it so…confidently, so lazily, so certain of his own power over him. “Would you like that, my dear Arthur?”

Arthur had to swallow his retort, for he remembered the pain and the humiliation that he had to endure last night—especially the latter—but he must have looked sufficiently angry enough, for Lucius looked especially pleased, pushing him back, the distance between them now nearly enough to be considered a myth.

“Answer me,” Lucius said, and Arthur had never felt so defiant in his life before, had never felt so angry, but he also know how unwise it is to oppose Lucius directly now. 

“No,” Arthur gulped, biting his tongue. 

“A wise answer,” Lucius said in response, and his lips grazed his, lightly at first, then hungrily, and Arthur, despite his anger and revulsion, found himself opening his lips for him, as they kissed, there in a dusty corner of the library, dust settling down all around them. He could feel Lucius holding him back, though, his lips too insistent, too possessive for a lover, and, as much as Arthur liked to pretend that it wasn’t partially—if not mostly—forced, his illusions were quickly shattered, as the other forcefully tilted his head by the chin, so he could satisfy himself better.

Still, with their bodies pressed close together, he could feel his pulse quickening, despite his mind knowing better, and Arthur squirmed inside his makeshift cage, torn between the desire of wanting to push Lucius away and the desire for survival.

He was grateful when Lucius finally lets him go to catch his breath, the sound of their breathing the only ones filling the room. 

“I liked how you tasted, my prince,” Lucius said, grinning at him, satisfied, and, although Arthur felt sufficiently humiliated and used, he forced himself to return his gaze, to look him in the eye and to control his emotions. “I have some business to attend to, now,” he continued, pulling away, at last. “But rest assured, I will have you visit me in my private quarters in no time.”

“Is this how you treated all your royal guests?” Arthur remarked, feeling heat rising into his cheeks, his mind already going to the place Lucius mentioned, despite himself, already imagining all sorts of torment Lucius is going to put him through. “No wonder you’ve got quite a reputation.”

“Not all. Some,” he said, and Arthur felt a flare of something in his chest—jealousy? Hatred?—forcing himself to look away, because he knows what Lucius is going to say next. “But mostly just you, my little lion.”

Seeing as he got no response, Arthur could sense the other man withdrawing. The business he mentioned must be crucial. Either that, or he was done pushing Arthur’s buttons for the time being. 

“Well, I’ll see you around. _Do_ take care of your step, Arthur. You are in my cage, after all,” Lucius added, and if he smiled, Arthur didn’t see it.

* * *

That night, although Arthur was filled with dread of what was about to come, Lucius did not call him, and the next night, and the night after that. They dined together, lavishly, as befits a king and his royal guest, every single day, and Lucius still teased him and get under his skin, but it was never more than that. Arthur observed that, after all, the man had the qualities of a good ruler, for at least he prioritised managing his kingdom than playing his little games with him.

Or perhaps that was exactly the impression that he wanted to leave on him?

Either way, Arthur continued his research when he had time, trying to keep Lucius at bay with one metaphorical hand while trying to figure out how to extricate himself from the situation he’s in with another. It wasn’t an easy task, but Arthur managed.

Still, still, even if he kept his head down and appeased the gods, the night comes when the summon arrived, and he found himself being escorted to Lucius’s personal quarters by a personal guard of his.

Lucius’s solar—where he found himself after the guard left him—was fittingly large and lavish, the decor reflecting the man who occupies it. There was a whiff of roses and others, flowers strategically placed to liven up the room, and it was working, Arthur had to admit, but it was still too extravagant for his tastes, and for a moment, he wondered if all the space and the lavishness has ever made him feel lonely, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. The king probably had entertained more than his fair share of lovers in this place, and the room beyond.

Lucius himself was waiting for him in one corner of the solar, seated on an opulent chair, reading something. Arthur approached him carefully—he did it out of necessity rather than anything voluntary—as one would approach a dangerous animal.

“Oh, you’re here,” Lucius said, nonchalantly, closing the papers he had been reading. “I’ve been expecting you, but you know that already, haven’t you?”

“You _summoned_ me here, Your Majesty,” Arthur responded, tartly. “What do you want, Lucius?”

“Direct as always, I see,” Lucius said, grinning lightly. “You never mince words, Arthur. That is why you’re so charming,” he chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “But you’re right. I _do_ want you. I’ve waited a long time for this night to arrive,” he added, gesturing for him to come closer, and Arthur did, warily. “Now, what’s it going to be? We cut straight to the chase, or do you want me to romance you first?” He reached out for Arthur’s hand, and brought it on his chest. “You see, my heart did beat for you, after all,” he grinned, and Arthur squirmed, but he can’t deny the fact that his own heart _did_ beat faster at what Lucius said. “You _are_ my soulmate, the owner of my heart…will you be mine tonight?”

Arthur yanked his hand away instinctively, forgetting about the device for a blissful moment, and immediately realising what he just did, but he didn’t regret it. Thankfully, Lucius is either feeling benevolent or has briefly forgotten about it, too—although the chances of that are sadly astronomically low—so there was no electric shock afterwards.

“This is sick,” Arthur told him, wiping the hand that Lucius was holding on his tunic, visibly, slowly, so that the other can see it. If anything, though, he could feel Lucius’s gaze on him intensifying, and he felt a fresh wave of annoyance. It seems like there was nothing he could do to deter Lucius, and that vexed him greatly. “Do you really think I’ll be yours voluntarily, with all your mind games and schemes and—“ he could see Lucius arching an eyebrow, curiosity sparkling in his eyes, “—a-and your attempts to break me? I’m afraid that is not how things are going to work,” he told him, shaking his head.

“Oh, Arthur, light of my life,” Lucius sighed, clasping his hands together. “We’ve been through this before, in the library. In my throne room. I like your spirit, but I’m afraid _I_ am in charge here,” he emphasised, clapping his hands. “Now…” he assessed him, already undressing him with his eyes, and Arthur could feel heat rising to his cheeks, which he stubbornly ignored and pretended that it never happened, “go to my private chambers. Take off your clothes, fold them, put them in a corner. Then wait for me in bed,” he commanded, with a hint of entitled laziness in them—exactly like a predator, Arthur thought, bitterly. “I’ll be there with you shortly. Don’t get impatient and start first, I’ll be mad if you do.”

Is there no end to this, he thought, but apparently he’d accidentally said that out loud, because Lucius laughed, and he felt embarrassed, vexed.

“We’re only just getting started, and no, I’m most definitely are _not_ teasing you,” Lucius told him, after he’s done laughing. “Though I suppose you can see it that way, if you want. Go on, get going, then,” he motioned towards his chamber, and Arthur had no choice but to mumble his assent and turned on his heels to leave. “Oh, and one more thing,” Lucius added, and Arthur stiffened. “I _will_ teach you the meaning of obedience tonight.”

* * *

His private chambers was no better than his solar, just as red and gold and blinding, and for a moment, after he closed the ornate doors behind him, Arthur felt a pang of something like disappointment. He’d hoped that he’d find Lucius’s bedchamber to be subtler, warmer, but even here, deep inside his private sanctuary, Arthur found it to be just as needlessly extravagant as the rest of the palace. He didn’t know what, exactly, was he hoping for. Perhaps he needed— _wanted_ —a reason, just one, something that would redeem the king’s image in his eyes, something that would show him that Lucius, despite his apparent shortcomings, had some good in him and was worth saving.

Or—something Arthur did not realise yet—he wanted an explanation, any kind, of the strange sort of attraction that he felt towards him, alongside the unmistakable repulsion. 

Whatever it is, he found himself staring at the large, empty room for a moment, before seating himself on the bed. He wanted one moment of peace, a moment where he can sit and gather his thoughts, for, he calculated, Lucius would not be there for a short while.

But then of course…there was the problem of disrobing for him. Just the mere thought of it makes Arthur blush, and a part of him balked at it. However…he saw no way out of this, and he would be lying if he said that he was entirely repulsed by the other man. Glancing at the doors, he straightened himself up and did as he was told, slowly, hesitantly.

The wait felt like forever afterwards, and it’s killing him—he’d never imagined that it would be so humiliating, this, waiting on Lucius’s bed with nothing but the collar around his neck—but eventually, the double doors slid open, revealing the king in all his glory. He was indeed glorious, Arthur had to admit, and he’d never felt so bare in his life before.

Lucius’s eyes immediately was on him as the doors closed behind him, sliding down from his face to his exposed body, lingering for a while on his collared throat. Arthur instinctively gulped, avoided Lucius’s gaze, and tried to shield himself without any means to do so, and Lucius laughed. 

“Oh, don’t worry, my love, I am not going to hurt you,” he told Arthur, in the aftermath of the laughter, and Arthur tried to glare at him in return, but it failed, and Lucius looked clearly amused. “Yet. Although, I have to admit, it is rather enjoyable to see _that_ look on your face…yes, that look,” he added, and Arthur opened his mouth to counter him, but Lucius silenced him. “Part afraid of what’s going to come, part excited…you can’t fool me,” he grins, then striding towards him. Arthur felt himself shrinking away from his intense gaze, but he forced himself to lift his chin up defiantly.

“Lucius—“ he started, already narrowing his eyes at him, but the other man placed a finger on his lips.

“Not another word unless you have my express permission to do so,” he said, sternly, commanding his attention. “You see, the owner of my heart…I’m planning to teach you something very important tonight. And you are going to be my good pupil. Unless you’d prefer to be punished before we even started?” Arthur shook his head, and Lucius smiled. 

“Good. Now listen carefully,” he continued, his finger lingering for a moment before moving down to Arthur’s jawline, tilting his chin up slightly. “I will lay down a few ground rules for tonight’s session. First of all, you must obey me. And you will,” he said, amusement flashed on his eyes at what Arthur assumed must be the look on his face as he said that. “Second of all, you will not speak or do anything without my express permission. Third of all…” he looked at him for a long while, resting a hand casually on his thigh. “Third of all, you are not allowed to kiss or touch me in return without express permission.”

Silence reigns supreme for a short while, as they looked at each other, one powerful king and one captive prince. 

“Do you understand?” Lucius asked, finally, his tone dangerously casual, and Arthur wanted to look away, but there was something so mesmerising about his gaze—something about the way his gaze held him captive and entranced. Of course, he hated everything Lucius had just said, and wished that there was a way for him to gain some sort of leverage, but at that moment, he found the other man to be beautiful and fierce, and felt himself flush.

“Yes,” he told him, nodding, the bitterness in his tone betraying the attraction he was starting to feel—that he already felt—towards the other man. 

“‘Yes, Your Majesty’,” Lucius added, his tone making it sound like it was something of an afterthought, but Arthur knows better at this point. “Do it properly.”

It was a new sensation to him, one that Arthur did not dare to entertain for too long, and he fumbled around with the words for a bit, tasting them in his tongue, before he could spit them out. “Yes,” he repeated. “Yes…Your Majesty.”

Lucius’s eyes lit up with obvious carnal pleasure, and Arthur could feel his hand brushing his thigh while his gaze roamed his body. 

“Good boy,” he purred, moving in for the kill, his lips finding Arthur’s, and Arthur, surprisingly—to himself—instinctively, very nearly kissed him back, though he remembered the rules at the very last second, and stopped just short from doing so. Lucius pushed him back, down to the bed, clambering on top of him, the fine fabric of his clothes brushing against his exposed skin, a painful reminder of his state of vulnerability. 

It was plain torture, to be so close to him yet unable to touch him in return, to taste him just as he tasted him, although that only serves to inflame Arthur’s confusion more. He wanted him, now he realised it, but at the same time, he despised that very desire, for Lucius had made him his plaything. He felt the hunger growing inside of him like a monster that he’d never known existed, the _want_ , Lucius’s kisses burning like flames, like the roses in his solar, his every touch filling him with the dangerous burning need for him, until Arthur eventually yielded, and he kissed him back in defiance of his rules, rather than simply lie back and let him have his way with him.

Lucius didn’t shy away from the sudden charge, instead, he slid his tongue into Arthur’s open mouth, deepening the kiss, one of his hands reaching between his thighs, stroking his cock, and Arthur lost control for a moment, stumbling, letting a desperate moan slip out.

“Well, I rather expected that,” Lucius said, as they catch their breaths, grinning slightly. “That was fun, but next time I’m going to have to punish you,” he pointed out, and Arthur instinctively opened his mouth to retort, but Lucius silenced him with a kiss, urgent and passionate, before pushing him aside. “Wait here. I have something for you.”

He had a sinking feeling in his stomach— _this couldn’t be good_ —but he had no choice but to nod, wordlessly, wondering what manner of torture is it that the king had in store for him this time. It turns out that Arthur doesn’t have to wait long, since Lucius returned, soon enough, offering a hand to help him to a sitting position.

“Catch,” he said, grinning, throwing something in Arthur’s way—something small and round that gleams faintly under the light—and Arthur, instinctively, caught it. It was a small ring, burnished gold in hue, and the question must have been evident in his face, for the king looked endlessly amused, although that was somewhat his default expression. “I want to watch you play with yourself for a bit,” he said, his dark purple eyes, too, gleamed in the light with his fantasies, and Arthur choked back his disdain. “And when you are sufficiently aroused…put this on your cock. You should understand that I have absolute control tonight. Nod if you understand.”

Arthur cannot pretend that he doesn’t despise Lucius—a dark cloud that continued to grow in the pit of his stomach—but at the same time, he would be lying if he said that this doesn’t turn him on for the slightest bit. Certainly, he’s had obsessed, would-be suitors before, but none of them had ever come close to Lucius…and he’d never had anyone order him around before, and absolutely not in this…context. He averted his gaze, but gave him a nod, nevertheless.

He felt Lucius’s gaze on him intensely, as he reached between his legs and started touching himself. It was hard not to think of him, nigh impossible, and Arthur found himself slowly but surely fantasising about him, how he would look like naked, his lips and hands all over him, touching him like there’s no tomorrow, and he felt his pulse quickening—briefly remembering their kiss in the library too—but still trying to hold back his moans, biting his lower lip—

Soon enough, he was aroused, and gingerly reached for the ring, hesitantly putting it on, feeling a blush spread over his cheeks.

“Is it…like this?” He asked, carefully, forgetting about the forcefully imposed silence for a moment.

Arthur kept his gaze averted, opting to look at the sheets instead of Lucius, but the other man laughed, and tilted his chin up, forcing him to look at him. “Yes. You did good,” he praised, and Arthur felt his blush deepening. “I quite enjoyed that. Now…you are going to satisfy me.”

He pulled him then, to his lap, kissing him hungrily, arms enveloping him, keeping him in place. His lips quickly moved to Arthur’s jawline, and down to his neck, sucking down and biting him every now and then, leaving visible, unmistakable marks on his neck and throat, but instead of trying to push him away or put up a struggle, he felt himself arching back, baring his throat to Lucius. It wasn’t hard to lose himself in it, to forget about the complications, and let it all boil down to lips and teeth and skin. 

It doesn’t satisfy his own hunger for him, but there was a certain pleasure to be had in letting go, in submitting to the other man.

“You see, it wasn’t so hard, was it?” Lucius said, allowing him to catch his breath, in-between the kisses and the moans, as if reading his mind. “To give in and submit to me,” he let one of his hands explore his bare, exposed body, teasing his nipples, and Arthur bit back a moan. “I don’t need an answer, I can see it clearly in your eyes that you wanted me,” he reached between his legs, fingering his erection, and Arthur instinctively opened his legs a little wider, letting out a small, desperate moan. “I found it to be adorable. You, who are so vocal in professing your disdain towards me…” he continued stroking his cock, teasing it, and for a moment, Arthur was sorely tempted to push him down and silence him with a kiss, but ultimately decided that it wasn’t worth the risk. “Now you are just a bundle of desires, aren’t you? You can’t lie, I can see it in your eyes.”

He couldn’t help but wanting to give Lucius a scathing retort—even if it’s true and Arthur couldn’t deny it anymore—but the king silenced him with another kiss, hand still fondling his hard-on, still teasing him. 

“Kiss me back,” he murmured, and Arthur found himself to be more than amenable to this command, although he tried to restrain himself from kissing Lucius too hard, lest he proved his point. Still, Lucius broke the kiss too abruptly and too soon, and he found himself wanting more. But he guided Arthur’s hand to his body afterwards, placing it in front of his tunic. “Come, my love. Help me with this,” he said, and Arthur couldn’t deny that it was what he wanted.

Soon enough, they were both naked, and he could see that Lucius was just as aroused as him, and the sight of it turns him on even more. He was uncomfortably hard at this point, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold it. Thus, he was thankful when the other man pushed him down, getting him into position.

He’d never thought that he would end up underneath him in such a compromising position so willingly, and grateful at that. The thought made Arthur blush.

“You never looked so beautiful as you do now,” Lucius purred, looking down at him. “Beautiful and vulnerable…and helpless, are you not?” He leaned down to leave another mark, this time on his collarbone, while his fingers teased his ass, and Arthur arched his back, rubbing his hard cock on Lucius’s thigh, moaning. “You are so proud, and yet you are now a slave to my desires, my plaything,” he grinned. “I wonder, will you beg? Or are you still too proud for that? You have my permission to speak.”

“I…” Arthur started, at loss for words, still stunned. “Please, Your Majesty. I- I want you,” he fumbled, stumbling for a bit, biting his lower lip out of frustration. Lucius…I want you,” he dared himself, trying to meet Lucius’s intense gaze. “I- I’m all yours. Please…please use me as you wish.”

It was by far the most humiliating thing he’d ever done in his life, and he immediately looked down, face all red. But he wanted him all the same, and to drive his point home, he rubbed his hard-on, once more, on the other man’s thigh, though he kept his hands to himself. 

“That wasn’t bad,” Lucius said, sounding quite pleased. “I was expecting something more from my plaything, but that was good enough for a start. Very well. I will fuck you,” he said, detaching himself for a bit from Arthur. “I will fuck you hard enough that you would not be able to walk straight tomorrow, I promise,” he chuckled. “Now wait here, my prince.”

The wait was excruciating, though it wasn’t actually as long as he thought it was, but soon enough, Lucius returned, lubrication in hand, and soon enough, Arthur was ready for him.

“You must want me so bad right now,” Lucius whispered, his lips grazing Arthur’s neck, holding him down. Arthur felt like rolling his eyes at this, or either tell him off or to shut up, but he couldn’t think, not anymore, not when Lucius’s lips and cock are teasing him, the latter for entry, and he could hear himself panting and whimpering, craving the other man inside of him so, so badly. “I can only imagine how it feels like for you, unable to satisfy your cravings in any way. But I know you liked it,” he paused, before thrusting his cock once more, harder than before, and Arthur felt his eyes widened. “Don’t worry, my love. I will claim you soon.”

True to his words, it wasn’t long before he climaxed inside of him, filling Arthur with his seed, and he reached for him after that, unable to hold back any longer—

The jolt, however, not only manage to bring him back to reality, but also reminded him of the gravity of his position, and the humiliation burned. 

“My, Arthur,” Lucius chuckled, disentangling himself casually, evidently content. “You should still try to control yourself. The rules are still in effect, after all,” he said, but he did pull the smaller man towards him, his breath grazing Arthur’s neck. “But you did well. I will reward you accordingly.”

He could then feel his rough hands on his cock, not merely teasing him this time, but pushing him further and further towards the edge, and he twisted in Lucius’s arms, their lips meeting—

“You’re leaking so badly right now,” he purred, fingering the ring around Arthur’s cock. “That is unbecoming of a prince. Should we end this now?”

“Y- yes,” Arthur responded, throwing his head back, already feeling lightheaded, just one more step towards the edge. “A- ah, please…Lucius…”

The rest of what he was saying dissolved into incoherent moans, as Lucius made the decisive move of swiftly removing the ring, and, kissing his neck, guiding Arthur towards climax, that blissful release. He felt the pressure building, waves of pleasure washing over him, until he felt it, the crescendo, and he came on Lucius’s hands, messily, his name on his lips.

He doesn’t know whether or not he should feel grateful that Lucius’s arms was ready to catch him afterwards, but he slumped towards it anyway, too tired to think or feel anything else. A momentary silence passed between them, and he felt Lucius’s lips on his cheek, a soft touch unlike anything he’d experienced before from the other man, something intimate and forbidden. Arthur felt his heartbeat quickened, but he made no move to respond.

“You performed well tonight, little lion. Thank you,” he murmured, not unkindly, and Arthur simply _blushed_ —he wasn’t expecting something approaching gentleness, much less praise and gratitude, and it made him felt…weak. He doesn’t know how to respond, but it doesn’t seem like Lucius need any, for he continued to patter on. “You’re cute when you blush,” he teased, nuzzling closer to him, and Arthur made the effort to turn slightly and gave him a much-deserved glare. “Right. I suppose we should clean up,” he continued, in a more serious tone, gently pushing Arthur away. “Is something wrong? You’re awfully quiet, Arthur. You can speak now.”

There was a thousand things that he wanted to say, that he wanted to tell him, and for a moment, his conflicting feelings returned with a vengeance—the desperation, the desire, the self-hatred for wanting him in all the wrong ways, the repulsion and subsequentirrational attraction—but he quickly shook it off.

“Nothing,” Arthur told him, forcing a smile, shaking his head with a sigh. “I’m just tired. It’s nothing.”

“Well then, I’ll be back soon. Don’t fall asleep just yet,” Lucius added, jokingly, and Arthur gave him a weak smile in response. Lucius gave him one last kiss on the lips, and was gone.

Later, they lie together in the dark, Lucius’s arms wrapped around him protectively. His warmth, the now-familiar scent of his skin, and the silence of the dark chamber—punctuated only by the sound of their even breathing—quickly made him feel drowsy. Sleep slowly comes creeping in, a silent guest, and Arthur welcomes it, for the night has left him exhausted, in more ways than one.

“Are you still awake?” Lucius asked, the softness of his tone a contradiction to everything he is. Arthur stirred lightly in his arms, already half-asleep.

“Not for long,” he answered, drowsily. “Is something the matter?”

A momentary silence passed, and Arthur felt something soft brushing his cheek, like the feather of an angel. “No, everything is fine. I just wanted to say good night,” Lucius said, his fingertips brushing a few strands of stray blond locks from his forehead. “Good night, my love…I love you.”

In that moment, he was grateful that Lucius couldn’t see his face, for he felt his expression darkening, and the turmoil he’d felt earlier returned, making his stomach churn. Arthur could sense that Lucius was waiting for his response—hopefully, perhaps—but what could he possibly say in return to that? Any sort of thing would be a lie, and would surely turn to ashes in his mouth. He could taste it already, bitter with a sharp tang, like smoke, like blood.

He knows this for a fact now: Lucius’s love is a weapon.

He silently prayed that he would never learn to get used to it, though part of him relished the thought, and he hated himself a little more, died a little bit more, like how he did earlier, in his arms, screaming his name.

“Good night, Lucius,” he finally said, carefully, his tone betraying nothing.

If Lucius had read between the lines—if he bothered to do that at all—he didn’t say anything, for soon enough, he could hear his steady breathing, ebbing and flowing, the only other living being in the night. 

Arthur let out a sigh he had been holding.

Sleep soon claimed him, too, and everything fades into blissful nothingness.

But everything that had transpired between them remained.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, as always, comments & suggestions are welcome! <3


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